Forebode
by quiet empathy
Summary: Dreams and prophecies haunt them; like fools they try to change what they cannot. (NT Reloaded fic)


**_Forebode_**

_Are you saying I have to choose whether Trinity lives or dies?  
No. You've already made the choice, now you have to understand it. _

These words roll over and over in my mind, and although I know that I should refrain from replaying them once more, I cannot. It consumes me. I find myself analysing every syllable, spoken and unspoken, unable to feel at ease until I find a solution to this. 

On the surface, my choice is a simple one to put my fears to rest - I would choose life over death. Without hesitation, I would save her. Nothing could ever make me decide otherwise. Yet, it is not enough to calm my fears. I dig deeper. 

In this moment I find myself questioning the faith I have in this Oracle, previous experience warning me against taking her messages for face value. 

_She told you exactly what you needed to hear, that's all. _

I am furiously trying to fit the pieces of this puzzle together. Why did the Oracle choose those exact words? There has to be a reason. I would never let Trinity die. Never. I know this because if she were to die, I surely would too. But it is still not enough to stop this uneasiness I feel in the pit of my stomach. 

The cacophony of thoughts in my head quietens, surrounding my ears with an eerie silence as I suck in a quick breath in realization. I could no longer deny that my dreams meant something. I could no longer try in vain to convince myself that these dreams were merely dreams and nothing more. The Oracle had confirmed that. 

* * * 

_What happens when you go through the door?   
I see Trinity, and something happens, something bad. She starts to fall, and then I wake up. _

I remember the first time I had that dream. 

I had woken in a fit of panic that subsided to relief when I realized her sleeping body was next to mine. Though satisfied that she was still breathing, I could not shake the feeling of unease. Sleep would not come. 

I rolled onto my side and watched her breathe steadily, feeling compelled to wake her. I wanted nothing more than for her to wrap her arms around me and tell me everything was all right, even though I knew that every moment of sleep on this ship was precious. Instead, I opted to venture out into the harsh brightness of the _Nebuchadnezzar_ to clear my head. 

I took care not to wake her as I carefully pushed myself off the bed and padded across the chilled floor. Despite my efforts, the quiet of the room was disrupted by the rattle of the latch and soft cry of the metal door as I pushed it open. She stirred. 

"Neo?" 

I turned to see her propped up on one elbow, her eyes half closed as she used her free hand to push back the dark locks that had fallen in front of her face. She inhaled deeply. 

"What are you doing?" she asked, with the hoarse voice of someone who had just been woken. 

_She starts to fall. _

I dipped my eyes to the floor. 

"Neo?" 

"It's nothing," I told her, still unwilling to look in her direction lest I saw those images in my mind again. "I had a nightmare." 

I felt ridiculous the instant those words escaped my mouth. Childish, even. Yet she nodded slightly as if she understood. She sat up, swung a leg over the side of the bed and beckoned for me to sit with her. Taking my hand in her own, she asked me what I had dreamt. Part of me had wanted to tell her. After all, it was a harmless dream and what more would it show her except that I was terrified of losing her? Nonetheless, the thought of telling her was too much to bear. 

"I… I can't remember. It spooked me, that's all." 

She nodded, accepting my explanation, and drew me into her arms. Without words passing between us, she knew what I needed and held me until sleep came. 

* * * 

I progressively lost more sleep as the dreams manifested night after night. The vividness and recurring nature of the visions terrified me, the thought crossing my mind that perhaps they were all an omen. A foreboding. Another prophecy. 

Trinity often asked me about the dreams. It amazed me that she never became visibly irritated with my constant non-answers, and that she never let me push her away because of it. Silently, she was letting me know that she would always be there to listen. 

I fought intensely against the urge to keep her out of the Matrix, convincing myself – no, _knowing_ that she was more than capable of defending herself. At any rate, she would never allow me to sit her on the sidelines without good reason; this was her war as much as it was mine. I took comfort in the fact that Trinity was rarely alone in the Matrix. If I weren't there to watch her back, then Morpheus would protect her. Until now, that had been enough to satisfy me. 

* * * 

I am nudged back to reality at the feel of a hand brushing against mine, tugging lightly at my fingers. She can tell my thoughts have not been on the task at hand. 

I watch the Keymaker sink into the beaten up red leather chair, all the while mentally chastising myself for becoming so distracted at a time like this. We all know that if anything goes awry tonight, Zion will surely fall. But team or not, I am the One – the responsibility of bringing an end to the Resistance is mine. 

"One door leads to the Source," the Keymaker says. It is not until he finishes talking and Morpheus begins that I realize the significance of that one short sentence. 

_You've seen it, in your dreams, haven't you? The door made of light? What happens when you go through the door? _

I almost curse out loud; I am sure I can feel my face going pale. How could I have not made the connection before? How could I have just brushed it aside, consuming myself with only the how and why but forgetting entirely the when and where? 

It's going to happen tonight. 

* * * 

I am sitting on the side of the small bed we share, my head bowed and hands folded. I should know better. I know better than to try and change her fate. But I'm trying to grasp hold of some kind of reassurance that she will be here when I return. 

I look up at the sound of the door as she enters. I think she notices that I can't seem to meet her eyes as she sits alongside me. She doesn't know that I'm afraid that if I look at her, _really_ look at her, I'll see her falling again. I don't want that. 

_I can't lose you. _

Her eyes are on my hands, and I am unable to tell whether she hasn't said anything yet because she is searching for the words to say or if she is just waiting for me to speak first. She shifts her gaze to some undefined point on the floor in front of her, and her lips part. 

"Neo, I know something's wrong. You don't have to tell me. I just want you to know that I'm here." She turns her head slightly to see my hand now resting on my knee. She slips her hand into mine and my fingers curl around hers. 

"I want to ask you to do something, but I don't know how." I lift my eyes away from our clasped hands. Brown eyes meet blue. 

Her words are laden with gentle earnest. "I promise you, if I can, I will." 

"What if I asked you to stay out of this, no matter what? To stay out of the Matrix?" 

"Why?" she asks, the sound of incomprehension creeping into her voice. I can see her mind trying to process this. This is not the first time she has been placed in harm's way. This is not the first time that she has faced the possibility of death. What makes this night different from any other? 

I place my spare hand over our clasped ones. "Please." 

She doesn't understand why, and I don't explain it. But she senses the desperation in my voice, in my eyes and the two hands that grip hers. She whispers her promise. 

_You're not gonna lose me. You feel this? I'm never letting go. _

I breathe easier in the knowledge that I have done all I can to ensure her safety. In stark contrast to my relaxed physique, she appears to be deep in thought, her features tense as if something is weighing heavily on her mind. She abruptly breaks the silence, inhaling the chilly cabin air. 

"The Keymaker will lead you to the Source. That's what the Oracle said." 

I glance at her quizzically. Remembering briefly that I had relayed the Oracle's instructions to her, I nod a confirmation, though I fail to see what has brought her to raise this topic. 

"The path of the One ends at the Source." Those too were the Oracle's words. She continues, "What do you think it means?" 

Feeling sure that my answer is the one she wants to hear, I reply in conviction, "It means this war is going to end tonight." I believe that, I really do. 

She shakes her head forlornly, "That's not what I was asking." She clings tightly to my hand, continuing in a harsh whisper that I rarely hear her use, "The path of the One _ends._" 

She fears for me, just as I fear for her. _We each fear existence without the other. _Her belief in the One is unwavering; she knows with certainty that I will deliver peace to Zion. But she is not about to pour all her faith into a simple prophecy – she is too pessimistic for that. _She is too realistic. _ In her distrust, she analyzes just as I have analyzed, picking apart everything she knows about the prophecy and every word the Oracle had spoken. _There is too much to lose. _ I can see the truth scares her – the prophecy never says what becomes of me after the war has been ended, what becomes of me tonight. 

She seems to take my silence as a response and nods solemnly. "Promise me something…" She lets her words drift, as if she is debating whether she should say what she is about to say. "I wanted you to promise that you're gonna come back after this war is over…" She hesitates. "But I won't ask you to do that anymore." 

I stare at our hands again, my brow furrowed as I process her words and search for a way to respond. "I'm not sure if I can promise you that." 

"I know," she murmurs, trying to fight back the tears that threaten to burn her eyes. "That's why I didn't ask." 

She's trying not to break, I assume not just because she shrinks from the thought that our crewmates might see her with puffy eyes and a tear streaked face, but also in an attempt to stay strong for me. The façade is fleeting, her expression crumbling as I take her into my arms. Her lips pressed against my shoulder, her muffled voice begs me to be careful. My arms around her tighten, and I, too, am trying desperately not to lose it with the thought that this may be our last moment together. 

_She starts to fall. _

I think that if by some glorious accident we are both sitting in this room in twenty-four hours, we'll be all right. We will see that our fears were all for naught, and perhaps then we will allow ourselves to look forward to eternity together. 

It seems that fate is a shadow that clings inescapably to your every step. In desperation you do all you can to shake it from you, but your efforts are futile - when you look behind, darkness still lingers at your heels. 

Do we ask too much of each other? Does it even matter anymore? No. Fate has the upper hand now. 

And it plagues. 


End file.
